Weary Bones
by Empire of Dust
Summary: Not all Shepards were happy to be brought back. Consider this an addendum to "in aere amarus est".


It was one of those strange, cloudy days on Illium (even if it did seem like a world stuck in permanent sunset) where the scathing wind brought promises of rain, and Peyton doesn't know what to do with herself. After being stuck on the asari colony for the better half of a week, the place became an eyesore and it didn't look like they were ever going to catch the justicar. People in bars, with sullen-eyed drunken stupors, spoke of her in whispers, so she knew the justicar was still somewhere on Illium's overcrowded metropolises. It was the only thing keeping Peyton from running back to the Normandy and demanding Joker to send them off on another, less frustrating goose chase.

But she's sick of it. Of Illium. Of fighting. Of life. Not even the drinks in the Eternity can numb her growing discontent. Everday she wakes up, missing what she had before Cerberus brought her back, and every day the feeling gets worse. The idea that maybe, just maybe, she should talk to Kelly about it doesn't appeal to her. Kelly has a big mouth, and is known as quite the gossip on the Normandy. Mordin wouldn't talk to the girl for a week once he learned she thought of him as a "hamster on coffee". Not that it helped she went around telling everyone who would listen.

All these missions Cerberus sent her on blended in to one another. They all ended the same, anyway. Miranda or Jacob would say "Good job, Commander," or they would start arguing and Peyton would be too exhausted to say anything in kind, or settle their dispute; credits would be put into her bank account, and Kelly would chirp, "The Illusive Man wishes to speak with you, ma'am." Then it would start all over again.

Her bones are weary, and there seems to be no point to it all. And she doesn't know where her feet are taking her, as she walks along the crowded walkways of Nos Astra. Peyton hopes they have a plan, for she surely doesn't.

After thirty minutes of aimless wandering, she finds herself in the belly of an Athame place of worship, praying to a Goddess she does not believe in. A church, thrown in with all the flying cars and tall, tall towers that threaten to gouge the sky. It seems so out of place, in this world of steel and technology. But it is quiet in there, and she is alone; away from the constant cacophony of the Normandy. This is it. This is what Peyton Shepard had longed for ever since Cerberus brought her back: peace.

Her elbows are on her knees, and her hands are twined together, forming a steeple. The lighting inside the holy place is dim, but the stained glass windows seem to glow with their own inner brilliance, depicting scenes of some ancient asari goddess. Closing her eyes, Peyton allows the silence to fill her. The thought that she is the only one in there does not strike as odd, as it should. But it doesn't last long, her fleeting moment of peace.

"Shepard?" Miranda's voice is a sledge hammer that shatters the quiet. "What are you doing here?" The clack of high heels echo in the church. Peyton wants the Cerberus cheerleader to turn around and leave her be. She has neither the energy nor the strength to bring herself to tell Miranda to screw off, so she does nothing about the irritation boiling in the pit of her stomach. She settles for a sarcastic remark instead.

"Throwing a party. Care to join me?"

"Cute, Shepard. But we're all waiting for you back on the Normandy. It's about the justicar."

Miranda brings in the smell of rain with her. It mingles with her perfume. Peyton recalls the one time she tried to joke with her, saying: "Trying to smell pretty for the Collectors, Miranda?" at which point the woman in question fixed her with a frosty stare and replied, "It is better than smelling like the slums of Omega." So Peyton never brought it up again, much less tried to joke with her. But the perfume reminds her of that moment anyway.

"Why are you even here?" Miranda asks. The tone of her voice and the way Miranda stands insinuate that it has taken quite some time to find her. The thought amuses Peyton, however slightly.

Peyton wants to ask the same question, along with 'how did you even find me?', but she recalls seeing Thane, the reserved drell, lurking around the church a little while before she came in. She assumes it was he who told Miranda. Unless there is a monitoring device somewhere on her person. Peyton wouldn't put it past her.

"Looking for answers. Maybe." She is here more for the quiet than anything. Peyton glances to the side. Miranda is quiet, her fingers trailing the edges of the pew beside the one she is sitting in, and she wonders what Miranda is still doing here. To Peyton's surprise, she sits down, at the end of the same pew. Her hands are in her lap, and she stares up at the stained glass windows. The way Miranda looks at them reminds Peyton of childlike wonder, which seems so unlike the distant woman.

"Are you a religious person, Miranda?" The words fly out of her mouth before Peyton can stop them. Miranda does not tear her eyes away from the strained glass windows, and she shrugs.

"Not really. I got the impression that you were, though."

Miranda wears the black outfit with deep orange piping Peyton has only seen her wear a couple of times, the one that shows off her navel and taut stomach. The one that drives Jacob wild (wearing the almost all black ensemble, he squirmed so nervously when she was near ). Sometimes she wonders if Miranda wears it only to bug Jacob. The poor man's feelings are taunted and abused at his expense, but even Peyton has to admit it is funny. In a rude sort of way.

"You strike me as a woman of science."

"Don't pretend to know me, Shepard." Her voice is barbed wire, yet she speaks in a low voice. Afraid to break the quiet sanctity of the church, perhaps.

"My brother always told me to practice what I preach."

Peyton focuses her eyes at the back of the pew situated in front of her, creating shapes out of the wood grain. She knows the minute they step back on the Normandy she and Miranda will be at each other's throats again. Kelly had said this was so because Miranda and she were alike, in some ways: they were stubborn, set in their ways, dedicated to their causes. They only fought so much because of their similarities. Peyton then told Kelly where to stuff it. Yet neither of them sought to break whatever tenuous respect, if one could call it that, they've built between each other in the church of Athame.

Neither of them say anything for a very long time, and they sit, in the awkward silence.

"You seem distracted lately." Miranda offers. Peyton shrugs in response, focused on the patterns finding themselves in the wood grain of the pew in front of her. For some reason, she doesn't want to look Miranda in the eye. She fears her own eyes would give her away; would tell all of her secrets.

There is a particular window of stained glass that captures Peyton's attention. Upon the multi-hued glass is what Peyton assumes is an asari interpretation of rebirth: a figure bursting from a pile of ashes , reminding her of a phoenix. Miranda seems to notice this, for she says, "Do you think of death often, Shepard?" The question startles her, and she doesn't know how to react.

"I was brought back from death, once."

"What was it like?"

"Death?" Peyton turns in her seat so she is facing the other woman. Miranda still sits with her legs crossed and hands in her lap.

"I'm not asking you about the weather."

Peyton shakes her head. "You can't describe it with words." Her fingers tear into each other. She is very nervous, all of a sudden.

"I think the biggest misconception is the assumption of pearly gates and people waiting for you. There's none of that"

"I'm not stupid, Shepard." Miranda snaps. "I know the obvious."

Peyton continues as if she wasn't interrupted. "And you're so alone. You would think you would find it crippling, but you don't." Her voice becomes wistful, and for a brief moment she is back there, to the place she longs to be in. "You enjoy it. The best part of it all was how peaceful it was no more fighting, no more violence. Just you."

There is a long pause before Miranda says anything. "You sound as if you miss it and want to go back." Laughter rings in her words. She is joking, but she does not know how much truth her words hold.

"I do." Peyton admits, and she turns in her seat, staring at the space between her combat boots.

"Shepard?" Faintly, Miranda stirs, uncomfortable. Whether she is made uncomfortable by the hard wood of the pew, or her revelation, Peyton will never know.

"Don't get me wrong. I'm not going out of my way to get shot in the face. I'm not suicidal." But she says it without conviction.

"Do you ever regret what Cerberus has done to you?" Miranda asks. She can tell Miranda feels insulted, somehow. In the back of her mind, a tiny voice is telling her how everything would be so much easier if Miranda had installed that control chip. Maybe then she wouldn't have to think, wouldn't have to listen to her restless mind or bear with her incessant desire to go back. Never does it worry her, however. And she doesn't know which is more startling: the fact that she wants to stop existing, or how such a thought doesn't scare her anymore.

"Every day." She speaks barely above a whisper. The heels of Peyton's palms are pressed into her burning eyes. She feels like a waste of four billion credits. Ashamed, she says no more. Miranda inhales sharply.

"I see." There are tones of something along the lines of guilt and regret in Miranda's voice, and she moves. The faint clack of her high heels on the lacquered flooring give away her intention of leaving. The idea is both relieving and disheartening.

"Don't spend too long moping like a child. The Collectors won't wait while you wallow in your angst." Her words are sobering, and Peyton knows she should follow Miranda back to the Normandy. She stays another hour in the church of Athame to spite her.


End file.
